


Defensive Manoeuvres

by manic_intent



Series: Counter-Offensives [2]
Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, That older!Imperial!Yang AU where Yang is a retired Admiral, and Reinhard is still trying to get him to agree to marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “I want you to name the new cruiser,” Kaiser Reinhard von Lohengramm said as he located the man he was looking for in the villa garden, partly obscured by a tree.“No, you don’t.” Retired Admiral Yang Wen-li didn’t look up from the datapad he held, intently leafing through a book. He sat cross-legged on the grass, a large fluffy white cat curled on his lap.
Relationships: Reinhard von Lohengramm/Yang Wenli
Series: Counter-Offensives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711024
Comments: 13
Kudos: 123





	Defensive Manoeuvres

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beingevil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingevil/gifts).



> I was going to write something in time for either Reinhard’s or Yang’s birthdays, but then the virus hit, my cat had an operation (he’s on meds now) and all that so I lost the will to write for a while. Better late than never? :3 This continues Counter-Offensives, with some dialogue inspired by twitter convos.

“I want you to name the new cruiser,” Kaiser Reinhard von Lohengramm said as he located the man he was looking for in the villa garden, partly obscured by a tree. 

“No, you don’t.” Retired Admiral Yang Wen-li didn’t look up from the datapad he held, intently leafing through a book. He sat cross-legged on the grass, a large fluffy white cat curled on his lap. 

Reinhard ignored the way the guards within earshot stiffened at Yang’s brusque tone. The move to Phezzan had been rocky. Yang had complained loudly when he’d been manhandled aboard the _Brünhilde_ , kept up an icy silence through the entire trip from Odin to Phezzan, and had only recently started speaking to Reinhard again. Reinhard preferred open disrespect to silence, but the hostility wore on his nerves. 

He kept his voice calm and gentle. “Why’s that?” 

Yang petted the cat, tickling it behind its ears. Reinhard tried not to feel jealous, but it was a near thing. Since moving to Phezzan, Yang had lavished the ludicrously named cat, Admiral, with attention, pointedly leaving Reinhard in the cold. “Eh, I’d probably name it after the cat.”

“You can’t call a flagship ‘Admiral’!” Reinhard grit his teeth. “You’re teasing me again.” 

“I’m not teasing you; I’m just expending the minimum effort required.” Admiral twisted onto its back, purring as Yang stroked it under its chin. “Or we could stay on-brand with Sieg and Oskar, and call it the _Titanic_ , how’s that.”

“‘The Titanic’? Is that some obscure pre-Space era military ship?” Reinhard asked, confused. It wasn’t a bad name, if so.

Yang smiled humourlessly and turned a page. “Why do you want me to name a cruiser, anyway? Doesn’t the assigned Admiral get a say?” 

“Vice-Admiral von Mariendorf said she was open to suggestions.” 

As Reinhard had hoped, Yang finally looked at him, his gentle face wide-eyed with surprise. “You made her an Admiral?” 

“She deserves it. As you’ve said before.” 

Yang’s mood soured—he frowned as he turned back to his datapad. “Just because I said so?” 

“You, and Reuenthal, Mittermeier… even Oberstein. Her strategic contributions during the last campaign were invaluable.” 

“Right. I suppose congratulations are in order.” Some of the tension went out of Yang’s shoulders, but his tone remained flat. “Is there anything else?” 

Reinhard stared helplessly at Yang’s bowed head. The house and compound he had installed Yang in was an elegant villa in a quiet residential district, a heritage house that doubled as a small museum of Phezzanese natural history. Printed books were vanishingly rare across the galaxy, and the museum had a whole floor of them. Reinhard had hoped that it would amuse Yang enough to forgive the forced move to Phezzan, but according to reports from house staff, Yang hadn’t even bothered to explore the library. 

“No,” Reinhard said after a long pause. “I… I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” 

“As you wish, mein Kaiser,” Yang said, coolly polite again. 

Reinhard grimaced and retreated, his ears hot. He kept his poise stiff until the privacy of his landcar, where he allowed himself to let out a shuddering sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. On the scale of all the problems he had right now—civil unrest on Phezzan, war with the FPA—a lover’s spat was a minor distraction. It didn’t feel like one. During the rest of the day’s meetings, Reinhard’s attention kept wandering back to Yang despite his best efforts. He stayed monosyllabic through the strategy meeting with his Admirals and struggled to absorb information during the urban development consultation with a local Phezzanese panel. 

Wrung out and drained by the end of the day, all Reinhard wanted to do was sleep. He certainly had no appetite for the tray of Phezzanese delicacies that his new Vice-Admiral brought into the room, though he offered Hilda von Mariendorf a murmured thanks as she set it down on his desk. She wore her dress uniform, albeit without the medals she had earned. Reinhard’s admiralty disdained such trappings, as they should. 

“The stew is a little spicy,” Hilda said, gesturing at the fragrant dish, orange gravy coating what looked like chunks of the fish-like local fauna that according to reports were farmed sustainably in the archipelago to the east. “Goes well with the toasted flatbread. I’ve selected a number of their usual accompaniments in case you’d like to try any.” Small sauces of different colours and flavours dotted the tray in tiny bowls. Hilda had done her best.

“Thank you,” Reinhard said, though he wasn’t hungry in the least. “You’re an Admiral now, Countess. You shouldn’t have to do this.” 

“I don’t _have_ to, no,” Hilda said. She smiled, her eyes warm with concern. “I want to. As a friend.”

“I’m fine,” Reinhard said, trying not to grow irritated. “You, Sieg, and the others can stop trying to mother me.” 

“Wouldn’t you do the same for Marshal Kircheis or me, if we stopped eating and sleeping well for weeks?”

“It’s a small matter. I’m not made of porcelain. Leave.” 

Hilda bowed. “Thank you for your time, mein Kaiser. By the way, Admiral Yang contacted me earlier today. He told me to decline any suggestions that the new flagship be named ‘the Titanic’. I asked him why, and he made an odd joke about ice asteroids.” 

“He’s still in one of his moods.” So it had been yet another one of Yang’s obscure jokes as Reinhard’s expense. Reinhard should’ve known. “Leave.” 

“As you wish.” Hilda retreated. 

Reinhard turned back to the datapad, swallowing his temper. Hilda meant well. He would eat after he grasped the principle behind the trade policy document that he’d been trying to read.

#

“Gods, yes,” Yang said when Reuenthal asked if he wanted to go out. “Somewhere quiet with a lot of alcohol.”

“I know the place,” Reuenthal said, amused. Negotiating with Yang’s security took time and required a liberal application of intimidation and charm alike, but eventually, Reuenthal packed Yang into his unmarked landcar. Once inside the car, Yang let out a long breath and sank into the seat. 

“My knight in—” Yang paused, glancing at Reuenthal’s clothes, “—raincoat armour?” 

“It’s leonwear. Popular in Phezzan.” Reuenthal adjusted a discreet setting built into the lining, and the pale grey colour blushed away from the hems into a naval blue. “Changes colour and texture as you like. Some of the more expensive sets change cuts and styles as well.”

“That’s… interesting?” Yang said, having never paid much attention to fashion. He tended to wear his clothes until they wore out.

“Technology exists to move us across the galaxy, to communicate across vast distances. Imperial military technology is highly advanced, but it’s sadly lacking in other areas.” 

Yang looked away and out of the car. The landcars on Phezzan were different as well: as far as he could tell, they ran on batteries, charged through the very roads that they travelled. The buildings on Phezzan tended to be mostly underground, with fewer windows, energy-efficient and draped in coats of living plants across their roofs and flanks. The people wore clothes in styles that he had never seen, some of which shifted colours and shapes as they walked. The food that he had been served so far exhibited a range beyond his experience of Imperial cuisine, not just of taste but of textures. Everything in this elegant city reminded Yang of its technocratic, mercantile nature, a nature that the invading forces were starting to consume. Dotted among its more colourful citizenry were people in sober Imperial clothes, and the shadow of the fleet hung in the pale sky as a distant warning drawn in fingers of steel. 

The bar Reuenthal chose had wedged itself at the end of a narrow alley, unmarked by signage. It was dim and smoky with a molasses-sweet scent, emanating from a section at the back where people lounged in an open garden on cushioned benches, tubes from glass machines twined around their wrists. Smoke patterns puffed from their mouths as they breathed, laughing hazily. Reuenthal motioned Yang to an alcove and ordered a bottle of brandy from the bar, which he brought to the table with a pair of glasses. 

“I see you don’t intend to get any more work done for the rest of the day,” Yang said as he grabbed the bottle and poured for them both. “Are you here to give me relationship advice? I warn you, I’ve already heard it from Hilda, Sieg, and Wolfgang. Several times. Over the past couple of months.” 

“Me, give people relationship advice?” Reuenthal chuckled, taking a sip of his glass. “Perish the thought. No. I’m here to drink.” 

“Finally, someone on my wavelength.” Yang downed his glass and poured himself another couple of fingers. 

“Besides, it’s not hard to understand your grievances,” Reuenthal said, gesturing with his glass. “You’re hardly some glorified songbird who’d enjoy being moved across the galaxy and installed in a gilded cage. You’re a retired Imperial Admiral. Wolfgang and I advised the Kaiser to leave you on Odin.”

“That conversation must have gone down so well.” 

“He told us to mind our own business,” Reuenthal said, chuckling again as he drank. “He’s very young.”

“The Kaiser isn’t a child.” 

“That isn’t what I said. You’ve been part of the military for a long time. Surely you know what young officers are like.” 

“You’re hardly an old man yourself, to be talking about ‘young’ officers like that,” Yang groused. “Yes, yes. I know.”

“And I know that you’re not the sort of person to place any real sentimental value on property. You’re not at all upset because you had to leave Odin. Marshal Kircheis and the Kaiser can try and make you as comfortable as they think you’d like to be on Phezzan, but it won’t make a difference.” 

“They’re both young.” 

“I’d wager a case of wine that you’re not even that upset that you were moved here,” Reuenthal said, watching Yang keenly. “You find Phezzan interesting.” 

“You think so?” Yang said with a faint smile. 

“Please. The Kaiser might complain about you not visiting some ancient library all he likes, but I know you’ve been taking long walks in the morning and visiting the local stores. Back on Odin, you used to just sit at home and drink.” 

“That wasn’t all I used to do,” Yang muttered. “And I wish you’d all stop spying on me. Honestly.” 

“It’s hardly spying when your movements are all over the local papers and the network. The Kaiser is the most famous person in the galaxy. You’re hardly far behind. Is it true that you’ve refused to marry him a hundred times?” 

“…I don’t think he asked me that often,” Yang said, startled. “People wrote that in the news? Really?” 

“Oberstein’s still trying to wrangle the Phezzanese media into submission, though I believe he’s been told to use a soft touch. It makes the papers good reading.” 

Yang made a mental note to read the local papers more often. “Fascinating. That explains all the strange phone calls that the house has been getting. Maybe I should answer them instead of leaving it to security.” 

“You should,” Reuenthal said with a faint smirk, pouring them both another glass. “Air all your troubles. Why not.” 

Yang laughed, picking up his glass. “Careful. I might suspect you of trying to destabilise the monarchy.” 

“If something like this could destabilise the administration, then it’s not worth supporting.” Reuenthal sipped his glass. “If you like Phezzan, you could probably run it. That way, matters of the press and such would be under your purview.” 

“The amount of work that’d go into running an entire planet and its territories… ugh. Even thinking about it makes me break out in a cold sweat.” 

“You’re hardly allergic to responsibility. If so, you wouldn’t have mobilised your fleet to save Westerland.” 

“A sense of common decency wasn’t enough?” Reuenthal was clearly baiting him, but Yang couldn’t help but rise to it anyway. Reuenthal smiled thinly, unfazed by the edge in Yang’s tone. 

“Do you care very much about that? Who do you have in your bed? No-one rises peacefully to the kind of power that Reinhard wields.” 

Yang exhaled and drank. Poured another glass. Brandy made the room feel warm, mellowing him down. “I’ve been thinking about what Hilda used to do, at least until now. I presume she’ll be deployed on the war front, now that she has her fleet. With her and Sieg busy elsewhere, that leaves the Kaiser without voices of restraint by his side. Not that he listens easily to them in the first place.”

“But?” 

“What is a good man who serves a tyrant but an accomplice who remains complicit to the tyrant’s cause?” Yang said with an uneven smile. “Such a person must either recognise their responsibility or admit that they’re lying to themselves. There are no adults in the room, no voices of reason where something as critical as governance is concerned. A leader who needs people like that around him is no leader at all. Just a disaster waiting to happen.” 

Reuenthal flicked a glance around the quiet bar before he drank. “Seditious talk.” 

“From one of the few people Oberstein can’t conveniently disappear. I recognise my privilege.” 

Reuenthal gave Yang a sharp smile. “He likes you. It wouldn’t be personal. What would you suggest, then? Civilian governance? You’ve seen how that works in the FPA. What they’ve done to your friend Merkatz.” Politics and egos had hindered Merkatz’s ability to respond to the Imperial threat adequately. 

“I’m neither a scholar of human nature or of human governance. I’m just a crabby old retiree who likes to laze around and drink.” 

“A conscientious man with only complaints and no solutions is like the wind,” Reuenthal said, making a dismissive gesture beside his face. “Loud for a time, until it passes and is forgotten.” 

“I’m on to you,” Yang said, sloshing more brandy into his glass. “I won’t be put to work. Let me be conscientiously useless in peace.” 

“If that’s what you want.” 

“Let’s talk about something else before I get too depressed and start drinking something stronger.” Yang tipped back his glass. “Pick a topic.” 

“About your ranking system. Given the circumstances, isn’t it time that you updated it?” Reuenthal asked. He smirked as Yang pulled a face. 

“Ugh, don’t bring that up again. Given how jokes tend to metastasise around the Kaiser in terrible ways… I swear, I’m never going to make a joke again,” Yang said. He flinched as his comms unit buzzed loudly within his coat. It was Hilda. “Ah, excuse me.” He picked up, turning against the wall. “Hilda? Do you need something?” 

“It’s the Kaiser,” Hilda said, tense. “Could you come to his residence? Please.”

#

“I’m fine,” Reinhard growled, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets. His body responded poorly to his commands, sluggish and slow, and his head felt stuffed with hot cotton.

“Your Excellency, you have a high fever,” Hilda told him, folding her arms firmly over her chest. “You need to rest. Please.” 

“I can’t…” Reinhard rubbed at his temple. It was hard to think. “How long have I been out?” 

“Three days.”

“Three days! No. I have work to do.” 

“It’s all right,” Hilda said soothingly. “It’s being handled.”

“By Sieg? Military affairs, maybe, but he’d hardly be up to date on local matters, and he has a lot on his plate as it is.” None of the other Admirals would dare assume Reinhard’s authority in his sudden absence. Even Kircheis would’ve been reluctant to do so—

“By Yang,” Hilda said and smiled wryly at Reinhard’s open confusion.

“That’s not funny,” Reinhard said after a long moment.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“That man hates having to… why would he? Did you ask him to?” 

“No.” Hilda looked surprised that Reinhard asked. “I would never dare. To wield your influence like that in your name…” She trailed off with a small laugh. “It’s gone well. Where military matters are concerned, he has the support of a number of us—your Admirals—as it is. As to matters of governance, I gather that’s been more complicated.” 

“Complicated?” Reinhard asked, frowning. “Did someone disrespect him?”

“No, no,” Hilda said, and was still trying to explain when the door opened and Yang ambled in, dressed in his old Imperial uniform. He held a tray with a bowl of soup, a small bottle of pills, and a glass of water. 

Yang exchanged a polite greeting with Hilda, who bowed and took her leave. Setting the tray down on the bedside table, Yang said, “Apparently, you collapsed from overwork.” 

“Apparently?” Reinhard managed to sit up against the wall.

“There were some anomalies in the bloodwork. I’ve sent it to a few specialists. In the meantime, you’re meant to be taking a break.” Yang sat down on the edge of the bed. “Which includes eating, and while I won’t spoonfeed you, I will order Oskar to do it if you don’t eat.” 

“He won’t listen to you,” Reinhard said, though the thought of it made him grimace. Yang set up a tray table over his knees, and while his stomach felt too leaden for food, Reinhard ate the bland soup. 

“You’d be surprised,” Yang said, staring at his hands. “Your Admirals have all been generally agreeable. Though, perhaps it’s because Bittenfeld shouted at those who weren’t until they were too deafened to mount any further arguments.” 

“Who?” 

“Either way, I’ve had Sieg sign off on all the key decisions I made while you were resting, so if there are any consequences, we can spread the blame between us.” Yang ignored Reinhard’s query. 

Reinhard ate. It was easier to concentrate on one thing at a time. Once the bowl was set aside, he said, “I didn’t think that you would do such a thing. Step in on my behalf.”

“It’s temporary. I fully intend to go back into my life of leisure once you’ve recovered.” 

“I mean. Given your dislike of power. And our. Disagreement.” 

“Only one disagreement?” Yang said, with a faint smile. “I don’t dislike power, Reinhard. If I did, I wouldn’t have joined the military. It’s the ugliness of the pursuit of absolute power that I dislike. War, conquest, needless suffering…” He glanced at Reinhard. “Do you think that you’re a good man?” 

The abrupt question startled Reinhard. “What?”

“Sorry. I’m rambling.” Yang forced a smile. “Rest. Eat your meds. I mean, eat the pills first, then rest.” 

“No one’s asked me that before. I. No, I don’t think so.” A good man wouldn’t have left Westerland to its fate.

“Does that bother you?” Yang leaned closer, looking intently at Reinhard’s eyes. 

“Not as much as you want it to.”

Yang flinched back. “I… never mind. I should get back to work.” He began to get to his feet and hesitated as Reinhard grasped his wrist. 

“Would you prefer me to tell you what you want to hear?” 

“I wish I did,” Yang said, “but it wouldn’t work. We know each other too well.” He sat back down, patting Reinhard’s knuckles. “Take a break. I promise that I won’t sabotage your plans for total galactic domination.” 

“Even though you want to,” Reinhard said. 

“Eh.” Yang carded fingers absently through his hair. “I don’t know. That might make things worse. Besides, if I’d wanted to do something about you, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” 

“Don’t let Oberstein hear you say that.” 

“He knows. We’ve already had this conversation.” 

“I’m surprised.” Oberstein had said not a word. 

“Rest.” Yang gently pulled free of Reinhard’s grip. “We’ll speak again later.”

#

Yang withdrew immediately from public life the moment Reinhard recovered. “It was too much of a hassle,” he told Mittermeier and Reuenthal as they had wine in the pavilion of a public park close to Yang’s residence. Flying creatures hadn’t evolved in Phezzan, but there was a considerable variety of reptilian-esque life-forms. Yang liked to sit at the lake and watch the colourful, multi-legged pond skinks skate across the water’s surface, nurturing the symbiotic succulents that grew over their backs.

“I hear the Phezzanese Senate was disappointed,” Mittermeier said as he poured wine. 

“I know. They no longer had someone they could argue with.” Yang had liked some of the younger, more idealistic Senators. “I told them that I would send them a clip of me frowning and saying no to everything, and they could play that whenever they felt like submitting Reinhard a proposal.” 

“Speaking of the Kaiser, I hear he was also disappointed,” Reuenthal said with a sharp smile. “I’m shocked, myself, after that speech you gave me about turning accomplice and all that.” 

“Yes, yes, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the entire bottle of brandy that we drank together beforehand.” Yang toasted them both with his glass and took a sip. “Dryer than I’d like.” 

“That’s because your taste buds and your liver have been marinated in brandy,” Reuenthal said. 

“Says the man whose blood is probably one-quarter wine at this point,” Yang shot back.

“At least that makes it somewhat the right colour.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” 

“The two of you, please.” Mittermeier pulled away the bottle in a silent threat. As Yang grumbled but settled down, Mittermeier said, ”You can’t blame the Kaiser. After all, you’re a surprisingly good administrator.” 

“Surprisingly?” Yang said, chuckling. 

“You used to leave the general running of your fleet to your aides. Common knowledge.” Reuenthal polished off his glass and poured himself more. 

“You could do some good,” Mittermeier said.

“Not you as well.” Yang sniffed loudly. “You and Oskar should coordinate your lectures. I tend to tune out when I have to listen to repeat material.” 

“Is it better to do nothing, or to do something and do some good with the power you have?” Mittermeier persisted. 

“There are any number of local Phezzanese people for something like that. That’s what I told Reinhard when he raised the point. We’re here as invaders. Colonists, even. The Phezzanese are fully capable of governing themselves—they’ve been doing it for a while.”

“Through the Black Fox,” Reuenthal said.

“Even before that. He hasn’t been in power for that long, in the general scheme of things. The Phezzanese don’t want us here. We can claim to do good all we like, but I know better.” Yang stared at the lake through his wine glass. “Conquerors are parasites.” 

“Right,” Mittermeier said, resigned. “That’s enough wine for you.” 

“A toast to the parasites,” Reuenthal said, clinking his glass against Yang’s. 

“And enough for you as well,” Mittermeier told him.

“Come now, we can’t be the only two objective people in this friendship,” Yang said, grabbing the bottle and topping up Mittermeier’s glass. “Surely you can see what it means to rule the stars. Blood and glory, hm? Enough of the latter and some people forget what it costs in terms of the former.” 

“What would you have the Kaiser do? Withdraw to Imperial space and stay there?” Reuenthal asked. 

“I know what would happen if he did that. You might rebel, for one.” Yang tipped his glass meaningfully at Reuenthal. “All of you hawks worship Reinhard because he gives you a way to justify your existence. It’s a powerful thing.” 

“How did a pacifist become an Admiral?” Reuenthal said as Mittermeier coughed and glanced behind them. 

“I’m not a pacifist. More of a pragmatist. It’s why I drink,” Yang said, and poured the rest of the bottle into his glass. 

Reuenthal laughed. This was their third bottle of wine, and he was getting comfortably past tipsy. “If you want to go back to Odin, you should marry me,” he said. 

“Oskar!” Mittermeier said, shocked. 

Laughter hiccuped out of Yang. “Is that your best offer? A ticket back to Odin? Come on. You’ve said it before—it’s not what I want.” 

“Even the Kaiser of half the galaxy can’t give you what you want,” Reuenthal retorted, downing his glass and coughing. “So you should settle for less.” 

“I can’t fault that logic. Go on,” Yang said, grinning. 

“I have a whole cask of brandy in my cellar in Odin,” Reuenthal said in a conspiratorial whisper. “You could pour it into a tub and drown your sorrows.”

“…did you just tell me to drown myself?” Yang blinked. 

“No! Just your sorrows.” Reuenthal looked surprised at having to elaborate. 

“It wouldn’t be a bad way to go,” Yang said, thinking it over. You’d be preserved for the ages, pickled like a dessert. Do you know that they soak fruits in brandy for some puddings? For days. One of my lieutenants used to make the most fantastic pudding. Wonder what she’s doing now.” 

“They could bake you into a pudding.” Reuenthal frowned. “It would be dreadful.” 

“All right, you two.” 

“That’s an excellent Reinhard impression, Wolfgang,” Yang said, draining his glass. “Do we have another bottle?” 

“Ah,” Mittermeier said, clearing his throat, “that wasn’t me.” 

Yang looked over his shoulder. Reinhard stared at him, mouth compressed into a thin line. Across the table, Reuenthal started to cough, then, just as uncontrollably, began to laugh. “Oh, it’s you,” Yang said slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Uh. I don’t think we have a spare glass.” 

“Up,” Reinhard said, hauling Yang gently but firmly to his feet. “Mittermeier, if you could.” He nodded at Reuenthal, who was still chuckling to himself. 

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Mittermeier shot to his feet, saluting. “I’m very sorry about this, your Excellency.” 

“Quite so,” Reinhard bit out, walking Yang firmly away from the pavilion. Once they were in the landcar, Yang started hiccuping with laughter, cheek pressed against the window. “You drink too much,” Reinhard said. 

“How much did you overhear?”

“Enough.” Reinhard’s hands were clenched tightly against his arms, his jaw tight with anger. 

“If you wanted to join in earlier you could’ve said so. Instead of sneaking around like an… like an Oberstein.” 

“Is it true? That I can’t give you what you want? What _is_ it that you want? If going back to Odin is the only thing that will make you happy—”

“Wait, wait.” Yang rubbed his head. “If I have to concentrate on anything now, I’m going to throw up.” 

“What?” Reinhard grabbed Yang’s hands. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” 

“No? Just. Haven’t you seen me drunk before?” 

“Not like this. Maybe you have alcohol poisoning.”

“From just three bottles of wine that I shared? Pssh. No.” Yang pushed away the hands trying to feel his pulse and lay down over the seat of the landcar and Reinhard’s lap. “Be quiet. Or I will throw up.” 

“I could call for a doctor,” Reinhard said, though fingers settled tentatively over Yang’s arm. 

“Don’t need a doctor. Need sleep. And quiet.” 

Reinhard lowered his voice, though he didn’t stop talking. “I mean it. About giving you leave to return to Odin.” 

“S’fine. I love you too much to leave,” Yang said, stifling a yawn, his voice dropping into a mumble as he fell into a doze. Against him, Reinhard went very pale.

#

“I don’t believe that will work, your Excellency,” Hilda said in the video call, “but it’s. Romantic?”

“Then why won’t it work?” Reinhard demanded, pacing in a tight circle in the library floor of Yang’s residence. He didn’t want to leave in case Yang turned out to be genuinely ill, but after Yang’s drunken confession in the landcar, he couldn’t sleep either. 

“Well, your Excellency,” Hilda said, her poise immaculate despite having been awoken via frantic vidcall at the crack of dawn, “I can’t imagine Admiral Yang reacting in any way to ‘Will you marry me’ spelt out in flowers across the front street except with bewilderment. And besides. It might be too large to read?” 

“True.” Reinhard stifled a yawn, frustrated. “What would you suggest?”

“I’m not sure what to say,” Hilda said, surprised. “I’ve heard rumours that your Excellency has proposed before?” 

“Several times.” 

“Then I wouldn’t think that it was the method of delivery that was the problem, but something else.” 

“No. It’ll be different this time.” 

“Very well, your Excellency. We could discuss what you’ve tried in the past?” Hilda said, just as Yang stumbled through the library door, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Reinhard bid Hilda a hasty goodbye and shut off the vidcall, striding over to steady Yang by the arm. 

“Should you be out of bed?” Reinhard asked.

“I don’t get hungover from wine. And it’s hard to sleep when someone keeps walking up and down on the floor just above my room.” 

“Oh.” Reinhard flushed. “My apologies.” 

“Something came up?” 

“No.” 

“Come on, then.” Yang pulled Reinhard to one of the divans in the library, shoving the cushions up against the armrest and lying down. He tugged at Reinhard’s jacket until Reinhard unbuttoned it and kicked off his shoes, curling against Yang on the stiff fabric in a tangle. 

“Did you mean it?” Reinhard asked, his head tucked against Yang’s chin. His nerves felt strung wire-thin, coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke, but he had to know. He had to be sure that it wasn’t one of Yang’s jokes.

“Hrmm?” 

“In the landcar. You said that you… that you loved me.”

“Oh, that.” Yang yawned. “Yes? It’s obvious, isn’t it?” 

Reinhard jerked up onto his elbows, somehow joyous and furious at the same time. “What? How is it obvious? You’ve been angry at me since I had you move here with me! You still barely even speak to me!” 

“Hai, hai,” Yang said, frowning without opening his eyes. “Can we talk later?” 

“You’ve never said it before! And if you love me, why won’t you marry me?” 

“Urgh.” Yang pulled a cushion over his head and curled up into a fetal position. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything.” 

“ _What_. How could you just not say anything?” 

“It’d have been such a hassle—”

“Yang!” 

“All right, all right. Calm down.” Yang pulled Reinhard down onto his back on the divan and shifting on top, yawning. “You young people. Why would I put up with your high-handed behaviour and let you into my bed—with all the complications something like that would invite—if I didn’t care for you, hm?” 

“You—”

“Despite all that,” Yang said, poking Reinhard on the nose, “I’m not inclined to marry someone destructive enough to wage war on an entire galaxy. I don’t understand that part of you, and I don’t want to. I wish it didn’t exist. Even if you wouldn’t be the person that you are.” 

Anger left Reinhard in a chilling rush. “I… see.”

“Good.” Yang tried to shift off Reinhard onto his flank and yelped as Reinhard twisted on top, straddling him. “Come on. I’m an old man. I need my sleep,” Yang said, though he stroked his hands lightly up Reinhard’s thighs.

“You don’t do anything all day.” Reinhard kissed Yang as Yang tried to murmur a protest, stroking his thumbs urgently against Yang’s cheek. Yang compressed a sigh between them but wrapped his arms up over Reinhard’s shoulders, parting his lips. He chuckled as Reinhard growled and kissed the line of his jaw, the hollow of his throat. Reinhard wanted—needed—

“You’re doing so well,” Yang whispered, and chuckled as Reinhard hissed and thrust against Yang’s thigh. “My fierce young lion.” 

With an inarticulate moan, Reinhard reared back and got onto his knees on the carpeted floor. Yang leaned up onto his elbows from his sprawl on the divan and chuckled again as Reinhard pulled his underwear and pyjama pants down. “This is hardly appropriate behaviour for a library,” Yang said, stroking his fingers gently through Reinhard’s golden hair. “I think we should—” 

Yang’s words cut off into a groan as Reinhard dragged him closer and sucked in his cock. The shaft stiffened eagerly enough over Reinhard’s tongue, thickening to stretch his mouth as Reinhard took in as much as he could. As Yang moaned and said, “That’s good… so good,” Reinhard shivered and tried to take more. He _wanted_ more. All of what Yang was, all of what he could become. Yang’s words fed the hunger in Reinhard but only made him hungrier. He groaned as Yang thrust carefully into his mouth, murmuring praise that scattered into gasps, arching against the divan as Reinhard hummed and moved against Yang’s rhythm, even as his jaw ached, even as his pants felt tighter and tighter yet, as his fingers dug bruises into Yang’s hips. Reinhard would have more. All that Yang could give, and more. 

“Rein… I’m…!” Yang jerked against Reinhard’s grip as release shook through him. Reinhard choked but drank down what he could, licked away what he couldn’t. Fingers stroked his cheek tenderly, waiting.

#

“Something memorably unusual would be good for a cruiser’s name,” Yang said as he sat with Hilda on a park bench under a tree. “What about the ‘Pillar of Autumn’?”

“That’s not too bad. Though I notice that your flagship is just called the _Hyperion_.” 

“Was. _Was_ my flagship.” 

“It’s still yours if you want it,” Hilda said with a gentle smile.

“It’s part of Reinhard’s fleet now. Hm. Or the ‘Heart of Gold’?” 

“As a cruiser?” Hilda laughed. “I don’t know if Reinhard would agree.” 

“If he does, just remind him that Reuenthal’s flagship is called the _Tristan_.” Yang still didn’t understand that. “What about ‘Serenity’?” 

“Not particularly fitting, given it’s intended use, is it?” 

“The ‘Normandy’?” 

“Is that another obscure reference to a pre-Space war?” Hilda asked. 

“Nothing wrong with that either. Look at Marshal Kircheis. If bad luck in ship names was truly a thing to be feared, half of Reinhard’s Admiralty would be in trouble. I’d say—” Yang paused and turned as he heard footsteps approaching them through the leaves. 

Hilda got to her feet with a bow. “Your Excellency.” 

“Give me a moment,” Reinhard said, and Hilda bowed again and retreated. 

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Yang asked as Reinhard sat down beside him and curled an arm around his waist. 

“ _You_ should be at work.” Reinhard kissed Yang on the temple. “I’m reinstating your commission and promoting you to the rank of Imperial Marshal.” 

“What?” 

“Sieg has no objections. You’ll regain the _Hyperion_ as your flagship and your fleet, as well as half of mine.” 

Yang jerked to a side with a blink. “Reinhard.” 

“I won’t stop my plans for your sake,” Reinhard said, his gaze intent, “but this will give you enough autonomy to help decide how the campaign should be run.”

Yang let out a shaky laugh. “I could just keep the fleet in a holding pattern over Odin.” 

“If you like. This is what you want, isn’t it?” Reinhard asked softly. “True agency.” 

“I want a quiet life,” Yang said after a pause, stroking Reinhard’s wrist, then entwining the fingers of his right hand with Reinhard’s left. 

“If you did, I wouldn’t be here by your side,” Reinhard said, brushing a kiss against Yang’s mouth. 

“So you’ve noticed the flaw in my plans,” Yang said, though he smiled and turned, deepening the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Refs:  
> A good man who serves a tyrant: a rephrase of a great scene in the FF7Remake.  
> Roses anecdote: The partner of the law firm that my ex worked in proposed to his girlfriend by having 4,000 roses set into a ‘Will you marry me’ message, but it was so big that she couldn’t read it  
> \--  
> twitter: @manic_intent  
> my writing and prompt policy etc: manic-intent.tumblr.com


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